Unfurling Ribbons
by FlopsyOllie
Summary: The sadness finally crushes her underneath concrete. She cries, all alone in an empty apartment, cursing and praying for the boy she loves." - A Sellie Oneshot. After the shooting.


**Unfurling Ribbons**

_I've always wondered how Ellie dealt with Sean leaving her, and those first few months without him. Somehow, his hoodie became mixed in as well._

_I hope you enjoy the Sellie goodness!_

_- // -_

Only four days after the shooting, and he's gone.

It's difficult to wrap her head around it. The entire ride home, she keeps herself encased in a small metal box. No crying, no thinking, no feeling. This isn't happening. He will be home and she will be safe. The world isn't falling apart. A boy did not come to school with a gun last week. A girl she finds simply annoying is not crying in the backseat. Jay does not keep glancing sideways at her, eyes picking up on the way her fingernails are digging into her thigh.

This is static. Unsteady. Loud. Indefinable. If it cannot be defined, it does not exist.

They pull up to the apartment complex. Jay parks the car and turns it off. The silence is ringing in her ears. She doesn't want to go inside.

"You okay, Red?" he is caring, gentle. A side of him many have never seen, or will see. She doesn't want to be pitied. All she wants is to disappear.

"I'm fine," the words are forced out, an automatic response after a lifetime of practice. Because even when fire is raining down from the heavens, she is fine. She is always fine. Few ever knew how to see otherwise. But he did. And he…

Jay reaches over and detaches her nails from her thigh. The blood slowly flows back into place, burning. She didn't even notice, "If you need anything, just… call. Sean would kill me if something happened to you."

She pauses for a moment, wondering how much he knows, before opening the door and stepping out onto the sidewalk, "Thanks."

She goes inside. The orange car fades into the distance. Somehow, the key turns in the knob. The door swings open. The house is empty. Very empty. In a way, it is familiar, but just as shocking.

Her feet guide her through every room (not that there are many, but still), searching for someone who isn't there. She knows she won't find him. But it can't hurt to try.

There are still no emotions. Taking advantage of the situation, she gathers up everything sharp she can find and stuffs it into the linen closet. Better to do it now, before her feelings get the best of her and she doesn't know what to do. It should be easier if she can't see them. Easier…

Their breakfast dishes are still in the sink. His forgotten English book is on the coffee table. A CD jammed into the player. His clothes in the laundry hamper. A gray hoodie thrown across the bed. He owned more than one.

She wants to burn all of these things. She will set them afire and watch the room fill up with smoke, fill up her lungs. At the same time, she wants to keep them here. Maybe if she never touches them, never disrupts a soul, then he will come back. He will run back to her, apologize, and everything will be back to the way they are suppose to be.

She knows neither of these things can happen. She sits down on the bed (_their_ bed, for a few short months), and places his sweatshirt in her lap. The sadness finally crushes her underneath concrete. She cries, all alone in an empty apartment, cursing and praying for the boy she loves.

- // -

She hates school. She hates life. Hates the whispers filling her ears, hates the way everyone keeps staring but not caring, how Emma cries and drinks up all the attention she can get. The hatred starts to consume her, and she lets it because feeling angry is better than feeling sad. Hating him is better than missing him. Pain is better than tears.

Sleeping alone scares her to death. For the first two weeks, she keeps Bueller next to her, free of his cage. Sometimes it's too much to bare to be in the room, in the bed, and she has to sleep on the couch. A pain sits inside her chest, creaking and groaning every time she moves. She wonders if he feels the same pain, if he misses her just as much. She doubts it. If he did, he would've called by now. He would've called and said he was sorry and promised he'd come home soon.

Why hasn't he called?

She uses his gray hoodie for a pillow every night, breathing in his scent. That way, when she wakes up in the morning, it's like he never really left. He is still there, laying beside her, the contour of his face haunting her dreams.

- // -

Months pass. The phone never rings. She can't pay the rent. Bueller dies and her mother tries to pretend she's a real mother instead of the shell of an alcoholic. She stands firm, telling herself that if everyone believes she is okay, it will come true.

She will not let herself accept that he isn't coming back. He has to. If he doesn't… then what is she doing here? Why is she waiting?

Because he will be back. He will.

Marco convinces her to pack his things up. Ash is there when she mails it, blabbering on about Craig. She presses the address on firmly. As long as there is another person here, she won't think about what this all means.

The box goes in the mail. The sweatshirt doesn't. She waits for a call. A letter. Time passes. She fails at cards and at life. She has to move back home.

The apartment is sold. It will no longer be waiting for him when he returns. If he returns.

He won't return. He won't.

She wears the sweatshirt as a blanket, as armor. On hot summer nights it is her only protection from the outside world. Even after all this time, he is still with her. She only wishes, hopes, that she is still with him.

- // -

A note finds it's way to her doorstep. She doesn't know how or why, but the familiar scrawl is unmistakable. It breaks her heart. A note? Why wouldn't he visit? Why wouldn't…

She reads the note many times, over and over. She cries. She swears. She cries again. She keeps it in the pocket of the sweatshirt, handy at all times.

The note is the reason she allows herself to laugh again. She decides to lighten her wardrobe a little, to start playing the drums again. She tries to make amends with her mother and talks to her father every chance she gets.

The note is the reason, when Craig Manning smiles at her, she smiles back.

- // -

During her senior year, she changes. She is different. In a way, it is a part of growing up. But it is also so she can distance herself from him, to be able to say "that was then, this is now. See how different it is?" There can be no question of where he is or what he is doing. Everything is so different now -- she shouldn't care.

But somehow, she does keep caring. A small piece of her heart, stowed away and crammed into the crawl space, still thinks of and yearns for him. A candle that will never be snuffed out. She learns to live with it.

At graduation, she looks for his face. She knows it should be there, in the crowd, looking up at her. He always wanted to graduate. Is he going to school in Wasaga? Will he be a senior next year? Is he still haunted by gunshots and yellow paint?

She takes her diploma. Walks down the aisle. Tells herself things will be different now.

- // -

College is nice. Better than high school. It is a whole new experience, a new world. She finds herself thinking of him at the oddest moments. She wishes she could tell him all about her classes, her major, her friends, her life. But she can't.

Somehow, his sweatshirt has followed her. It is in the back of her closet, folded paper still tucked safely inside. She hardly takes it out anymore. Sometimes she wears it when she is cold. When she is having a bad day, she will slip it on and read the note and pretend two years have not passed. She is still a little girl in love with the boy of her dreams.

At the end of her freshman year, they are all moving out. Packing up her things, it reminds her of a sadder time. Another time when she was forced to leave. This time she is not being left behind. The ones missing are leaving with her. Still, the familiar sensation strikes her as she pulls his gray sweatshirt from the closet.

It does not smell like him anymore. It stopped long ago. She wonders if she should give it away. That is what letting go is about, right? But she has let go. She let go of him; most of him. It's okay to keep a little piece for herself, isn't it? She isn't meant to erase the one she loved and lost completely. Bits and scraps of his love, his life, will always be with her. A touch never meant to fade.

She folds the sweatshirt neatly, placing it carefully in a box. She reads the note one more time, and she smiles. He is still there, beating inside her heart. It only takes a little digging and a piece of paper to find him.

- // -

_I owe you more than I could ever give. Please, move on without me. I can't come back to you right now, and I won't let you waste your time waiting for me._

_I love you. I always will. Don't forget that, Ellie._

_Sean_

_- // -_

_Awww! Okay, I kinda love this. Just like I love Sean and Ellie. They're just so… adorable! And Sean can actually tell her he loves her and mean it, unlike a certain rockstar… (yet I also ship Crellie. I'm such a weirdo…)_


End file.
